Beginnings and Bedsheets
by starry19
Summary: "He was frighteningly shaky, both metaphorically and literally, and he felt very strange, like he was sleepwalking. Baring one's soul was an exhausting thing. But worth it, as it turned out."


AN: Written because of a random attack of J/L feels. I'm not sure this has a point, either; I just felt like writing. So sue me. When I think of all the little moments we're bound to see now, I just want to say THANK YOU BABY JESUS for letting us have a season 7. I _cannot_ wait.

This is rated T/M.

**Beginnings and Bedsheets**

He was beginning to wonder if he would ever properly get used to being able to touch Lisbon whenever he wanted.

True, he had over a decade of casual brushes of their hands, a few bone-crushing hugs, a precious number of times he had let his fingers stroke her hair.

He had survived on those things, had spent hours and days and months remembering them, savoring, eyes squeezed shut in an effort to recreate the moments.

And now it was like he was overdosing.

She was tucked against his side, arms around his waist, cheek pressed against his heart.

They hadn't even taken off from the small airport in the Keys yet.

He was frighteningly shaky, both metaphorically and literally, and he felt very strange, like he was sleepwalking. Baring one's soul was an exhausting thing.

But worth it, as it turned out.

He looked down, studying the woman who was ensconced in the circle of his arm. Her eyes were closed, dark curls cascading over the front of his shirt. Lightly, he kissed the crown of her head.

They had so much more to talk about, conversations they should've had years ago, confessions he needed to make. He felt a small thrill of fear.

He was so afraid that the darkness that still dwelled inside of him would ruin what they were slowly finding. Or that, once she knew his secrets, she would decide he wasn't worth her time.

But he owed her nothing less than complete honesty.

Unconsciously, his arms tightened around her. Just in case his opportunities to hold her like this were limited.

Lisbon tipped her head up to look at him, brows creasing just a touch. Her green eyes were warm, a little sleepy. "Everything okay?" she murmured, voice threaded with a hint of concern.

He smiled. "Everything is wonderful," he answered honestly. In this moment, the only thing he could possibly wish for would be that they were alone, despite his fears about what would come later.

She rested a soft hand against his cheek, and he leaned into her touch. She smiled, nose wrinkling, and he thought she had never looked more beautiful. Of course, he had thought the same thing not two hours ago when she'd walked into the TSA interrogation room and saved him from another lifetime of regret.

"I love you," she breathed, eyes sparkling, and his breath caught.

"I love you," he whispered by way of reply, then stole a gentle kiss before she could stop him.

He spent the next two and a half hours wondering what it would be like to kiss her without an audience. She dozed on his chest, fingers hooked into his belt loops, his arm draped over her.

They landed in Austin around noon, and Abbott took pity on them and gave them the rest of the day off. They both needed food, sleep, and a shower, though not necessarily in that order.

"Meet me at my place in an hour," Lisbon said as they stood awkwardly on the sidewalk outside the airport. "I mean," she hastily added on, "if you want."

His smile was soft. "I want." He brushed a thumb across her lips. "I'll see you very soon."

She surprised him then, pulling on his jacket lapels and tugging him down for a kiss. "You'd better."

Her sultry smile burned itself into his memory as she opened the door of the cab that pulled up, and an ache filled his chest as he watched her ride away.

He shook his head to clear it as his own cab arrived, then prepared to take the shortest shower in the history of mankind. It was incredible, how much he missed her already.

Exactly fifty-three minutes later, he was knocking on her door. Lisbon grinned at him as she took the white paper bags that held their lunch from his hands. "Aren't you enterprising?" she teased.

He shut the door behind him. "Just trying to stay on your good side."

Her house was filled with boxes and furniture ready to be moved, and he took another full minute to be grateful she was here with him.

Here with _just_ him.

Finally.

He meant to grab her as soon as she was within reach, but she was apparently feeling precisely like he was, and walked directly back into his arms, fingers sliding into the curls at the nape of his neck.

His own hands locked at the small of her back, and he pulled her close, marveling at how good this felt, to hold her just like this. Not like a friend or a partner…but like a woman that he fully intended to make his lover.

He bent his head and kissed her fully, no reservations this time, tasting the mint of her toothpaste on his tongue. He had planned to take his time, but when she nipped gently at his lips, he carefully pushed her back against the nearest wall.

Almost a decade and a half of suppressed passion was bubbling up to the surface, and his fingers trembled a bit as he ran them through her hair. Lisbon pressed herself flush against him, her softness against his rather obvious hardness.

Christ, but that felt good.

He couldn't decide where he wanted to touch her. He slid his hands in a circuit from her backside to her shoulders before slipping them beneath her shirt. His movements were tentative at first, but when she didn't stop him, he pushed his hands inside her bra, cupping her breasts fully, thumbs running across their hardened peaks.

Her aroused moan tugged on the edges of his very tenuous self-control and he took a deep breath against her lips.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, there was an idea about taking this slowly, doing everything possible to not screw up their very new relationship.

Having sex against her living room wall could probably be considered moving a bit fast. At least the first time. In the future, he intended to use all of the flat surfaces in the house to his advantage.

With difficulty, he rested his hands on her waist, forehead against hers, their ragged breaths mingling.

Lisbon was the first to recover. "Wow," she whispered and he chuckled. Her eyes were deep, bright, and a little shaken. He figured he knew how she felt.

"Tell me about it," he replied, smiling.

She leaned forward, snuggling into his shoulder, and he realized that holding her like this was almost as good as kissing her.

He hadn't even made it two steps inside her front door yet.

The kitchen was mostly bare, but she found plates for their club sandwiches and fries. He avidly watched the sway of her hips as she reached up into cupboards, searching. It did absolutely nothing to lessen his arousal, and he hurriedly sat at the kitchen table, trying to put some distance between them.

Slow.

They should take this slowly.

His resolve was tested further when she stood in front of his seated form, hands gently sliding through his hair. With a thoughtful look, she tipped his head back and kissed him, her lips warm and decisive.

Before he knew it, both of his hands were curled around the backs of her thighs, and he was absently cursing the rough fabric that prevented him from touching bare skin.

"We should probably," he said, in between kisses, "_God_, take our time."

"Mmhmm," she concurred, titling her head to the side as he moved his lips down her neck. "Probably."

She was straddling his waist now, hands against his chest. He was going to lose his mind. "We should," she echoed, and he noticed she had undone the first few buttons on his shirt. "But you know what?" He had never heard her voice sound sexier, had never been more turned on.

"What?" he breathed, palms skimming across her back.

She pulled back far enough to meet his eyes for a moment, then leaned in to whisper into his ear. "I want you."

There was no more talk of slowing down.

He stood, her legs wrapped around him still, and nearly staggered to the bedroom. She'd made the bed, crisp sheets tucked neatly in. Nothing else had been touched in the room, which meant she had been anticipating being here, like this, with him.

She pushed him down, hands on his shoulders, and he was perfectly happy to let her do what she wanted. Lisbon paused to kiss him thoroughly once, and then he was lost, anticipation giving way to breathless pleasure, wrapped in small hands on his body, dark hair falling over both of them, his tanned hands covering her pale breasts when she hovered atop him.

He was still trembling a half hour later, Lisbon stretched out beside him, his face buried in the crook of her neck.

He had forgotten what it meant to be connected to someone in such a manner, someone he loved. He remembered in an abstract manner, with vague recollections of heat and pleasure and a sense of belonging. But it had been a lifetime since he had _felt_ it.

Lisbon's hands sifted through his hair, and he rested a palm on her stomach, needing more of her, needing her closer.

He felt her chuckle, the sound warm and dripping with honey and female satisfaction. "So that was us taking it slow, huh?"

His smile curved against her skin. "Ah, well. The best laid plans, and all of that."

"Speaking of the best laid," she began teasingly, but had to stop when he laughed.

He shifted positions, pulling her across his chest and tugging the sheet up. She relaxed into his body, movements languid.

It was the middle of the afternoon. They hadn't gotten around to their lunch. It hardly seemed pertinent anymore, though.

"Patrick?" she murmured, words soft.

His heart gave a tug at the use of his given name. "Yes?"

"I'm really glad you got on that plane."

He kissed her hair, eyes closing. "Not as glad as I am that you got _off_ of it."

"So, next time you have something important to say," she went on, and he knew she was smiling, "just _tell_ _me_ how you feel."

"Alright," he agreed, then took a deep breath. She noticed his tension and responded with her own. "How I feel." He swallowed. "I didn't know it was possible to be this happy and this afraid at the same time."

Lisbon propped herself up on one elbow and looked down at him in concern. "What are you afraid of?" she asked gently, hand on his face.

His smile was self-deprecating. "Everything. Scared that I won't be able to keep you, scared that something could happen to you, scared that if I'm totally honest I'll lose you, but scared that I'll lose you anyway if I'm not..." He trailed off, raking his fingers through his hair.

Lisbon considered his statement, now looking more thoughtful than concerned. "Hmm," she started, resting a palm over his heart. "I think you're an idiot," she said conversationally. "I'm not saying you're not allowed to be afraid, or that I can't understand why you feel that way. I do understand."

She leaned forward and he studied her with hungry eyes as she brushed his hair away from his forehead. "I love you, you ass. Unconditionally. I'll love you even if you bury someone alive or leave me over and over again or if you sleep with the mistress of a serial killer. Oh, wait – you've already done all of those things, and I'm still here." Her words had become angry now, hard. "Don't you dare doubt me."

He held her eyes. "I don't," he said. "Doubt you." That was the truth. "It's me I'm worried about. I'm not good enough," he went on. "I have enough emotional baggage to sink the Titanic. I lie and conceal instinctively – I don't think about it anymore. I'm going to try," he promised. "I am, I swear, because I want this, I want _you_, more than anything. But I'm still afraid that it won't ever be enough to make you happy."

As far as confessions went, it sounded juvenile to his ears, something a man in his forties who had already been married shouldn't be thinking, let alone actually admitting.

Lisbon swatted his chest. "Stop it," she said, and her eyes looked suspiciously glossy. "You _already_ make me happy, you idiot. All I want is to just _be_ with you." She paused, struggling for words. "Jane, you are who you are, and sometimes I want to punch you." He didn't point out that sometimes she actually _did_ punch him. "But mostly, you're the guy that makes me smile. You bring me coffee and buy me ponies and manipulate the world to make me feel better. Even when you were gone, you sent letters, and _those_ made me happy, even from two thousand miles away."

She swiped at a tear, and he felt something crack in his chest.

And, sometimes, when words failed, actions could speak volumes.

He pulled her back down, arms as tight as they could go against her slender frame. She held him back just as fiercely, understanding that this embrace wasn't about her or about him – it was for them, both of them, and things that they hadn't even dared hope for that were now coming true.

They stayed like that a long time, breathing in synch without knowing it.

"You're still an idiot," she whispered once.

"_Your _idiot," he corrected.

"Hmm. I suppose I'll accept that." She kissed the hollow at the base of his throat, arms linked around his neck.

He smiled. "Glad to hear it. But in that case…" He pulled back far enough to see her face, lovely in the muted afternoon light. "Can we eat?"

She let out a startled laugh. "Really? You're thinking about your stomach now?"

His eyes widened innocently. "Come now, woman. Have some sympathy for me. I haven't slept in days, haven't eaten…why, I'm wasting away."

She hit him with a pillow, but rolled out of bed, taking the sheet with her. Following her lead, he half-dressed, not bothering to button his shirt.

Their food was cold, and the microwave made it soggy once reheated. He had no idea what it tasted like. All he knew was that Lisbon was wrapped in a sheet on the chair next to him, gleefully inhaling her cheeseburger.

There was a stirring in his heart, some deep emotion to intense to be named. This was what he had been looking for. It was like he was getting his life back all over again.

Winking, she reached over and stole a fry.

He made to take it back, but in reality, he was just trying to disarrange the 300-count percale makeshift outfit as much as possible.

It worked, and he realized he was absolutely not too old to make love on a floor, her head resting on his arm. Even if his back (and probably his knees) were probably going to stage an open revolt in the morning.

Lisbon had been laughing, but he took great delight in changing her giggles to breathless moans.

Later, tucked back into the bed they had shared before, her sleeping body snuggled as close as she could get, he reflected that not 48 hours ago, he had been planning on seducing her to keep her.

He was an idiot.

_Her_ idiot, he mentally corrected himself.

And, like Lisbon had said earlier – he'd take it.


End file.
